


When you find love, keep it close.

by FonDaBoo



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, Strangers to Lovers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:01:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29821188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FonDaBoo/pseuds/FonDaBoo
Summary: Their correspondence had started as a mistake, an unappreciated error and had ended with the not-so-startling realisation that an end to their engagement wasn’t what Lance wanted.After getting to know Keith, even as just words on paper, Lance fell in love. Utter, spellbinding, stupid love.They had stopped coming up with plots to end their betrothal one year after exchanging that first set of letters, instead, filling up pages and pages with everything but. Their hopes and dreams, doubts, petty grievances and stupid inside jokes. On occasion, Keith would send him drawings. Artfully rendered sketches of his mother or the Captain of the Guard, Shiro, or even the jagged mountains and eerie forests of Marmora.Anything and everything went into those letters, and slowly but surely little pieces of Lance’s heart snuck their way in too. Nestling comfortably in his loopy scrawl. He hoped Keith could tell how much he adored him. How even though their beginning had been...rocky, he’d choose Keith, now and always. He would pick Keith out of every romantic prospect in the universe. Maybe he wouldn’t have two years ago but now…Well, things are just—different.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 111





	When you find love, keep it close.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youraveragemushroom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youraveragemushroom/gifts).



> HELLO! Long time no see! I promise I've been writing, I just haven't posted anything.
> 
> Anyway, this work is gifted to Yashu (youraveragemushroom) because it was their support that gave me the motivation to finish the fluffy beast! This fic also coincides with the first prompt of McClain March which is royalty! Yay!
> 
> if you want some cute songs to listen to while reading I recommend: Love story (T Swift) Resta Con Me (Ludovico Einaudi) and If only (Andrea Bocelli) I listened to all of these while writing and I think they really fit the mood!
> 
> Much Love, Fonda!

Prince Leandro Espinosa (or Lance) has been engaged to the Crown Prince of Marmora Keith for, _forever_. Well...two years, three months, and three hours. But in reality, it does feel like forever, and Lance honestly can’t remember a time when he wasn’t engaged to him. Wasn’t thinking about him. 

A time when he wasn’t constantly fantasizing about him to the point that his dreams are plagued by the _idea_ of him.

_Ahem._

But they’ve never met, which is...weird, he knows, but it’s just never happened. Of course, you would think, as two royals, they would have bumped into each other at _some point_. At a gala, even a _ball_ , but alas, their duties and sheer distance have always kept them apart, as if they were twin poles of a magnet, destined to repel each other.

Lance, for example, has spent the better part of the last year traveling the southern kingdoms of Balmera, Taujeer, and Olkarion, strengthening their diplomatic ties with his home kingdom of Arus, before spending the bitter winter in Altea being mercilessly teased about his fiance by the kingdom’s queens, Allura and Romelle.

It was a disaster—in all the best ways of course—and one that couldn’t even be tempered by Allura’s offer to describe what his fiance looked like. And, _wow_ , had he been tempted. He’d never seen Keith, not even a painting, and part of him desperately wanted to know the exact shade of Keith’s eyes, whether he smiled with his teeth or with his mouth closed tight.

Whether he was really as handsome as the rumours suggested.

But, Lance had resisted. Because, when he met Keith —and, _stars_ , did he hope that would be soon—Lance wanted to just look at him with no preconceptions, to just look and _admire_ him without anyone else’s opinion or voices clouding his mind.

He did wonder though, early in the morning, and late at night, when everything felt slow and soft as summer rain, if Keith’s cheeks were round or chiseled. If his lips were thin or full and pink. What they would feel like under his own. If Keith had scars, and if so where? If he would have to remove his shirt to see them, if they would feel rough beneath his hands, and what—what Keith might do if Lance touched them.

Touched him.

But that was _way_ too much information, information Keith would hopefully _never_ learn. So for the time being, sure, he didn’t know what Keith looked like but he did _know_ him. 

Since their engagement was announced two years, one month after Lance’s sixteenth birthday, they’d exchanged bi-weekly letters. Begrudgingly at first, but as they got to know each other it became...fun. Exciting. _Thrilling_ even. Because, despite every heavy royal responsibility that weighed on his shoulders, Lance had Keith’s letters. A small, single tether to life outside of his princely confines, a haven where he could just be... _Lance_.

It wasn’t always easy, to just...write letters to each other. He’d heard… _a lot_ about Keith before their engagement. He was supposedly a ‘true warrior, a fierce prince wrought from the sprawling forests of Marmora’ or...something like that. A prince raised in total seclusion until his seventeenth birthday, when he’d had his _official_ and surprise debut at a _goddamn_ galran fighting festival, finishing the event with a sword in one hand and the championship trophy in the other. 

Lance had never attended the festival himself, but his sister had, did so every year with her favoured knight (and lover) Acxa. Veronica had, upon her return, told _everyone_ about the marmoran prince’s skill, how he had even bested the young galran Emperor, Lotor, who had _reluctantly_ accepted defeat.

Suffice to say, Lance had heard a lot _about_ him. Keith _this,_ Keith _that_ , Keith _blah blah blah_ . It was annoying but young Lance was invested nonetheless. Maybe a little too invested, but the guy was a total mystery, a royal hermit, every noble who was worth their trove of jewels was invested. So, when Lance’s mama told him about his betrothed, his _future husband_ , hearing Keith’s name had been enough to send into _mild_ cardiac arrest.

There had been too many _goddamn_ feelings swirling around in sixteen year old Lance’s brain and being the emotionally intelligent young man he was, he’d decided to write them down. All of his feelings. In a strongly worded, grammatically incorrect letter to the imaginary Keith that had been rattling around in his head since the announcement.

Which somehow ended up in the _real_ Keith’s hands. _How_ , he still didn’t know, but he had his suspicions…

But, _stars_ , the utter dread that Lance felt the moment he realised his... _confession_ , was missing, had been enough to send him into hiding for a week.

At least until he got a response.

Beautiful cream parchment, thick and smooth in his hands, delicately tied with a single red ribbon and sealed with a wax insignia of the marmoran crest—two crossed daggers—that hid its contents.

It took barely an hour for Lance to give in and open it, eyes skimming the page, devouring the words like a man starved.

_-To Prince Leadro,_

_I received your letter, though given the numerous grammatical and spelling errors, I assume it was sent by mistake. And, given how unhappy you seem to be with this arrangement, a feeling I, unequivocally share, considering marriage is certainly of no interest to me—would you consider a truce? An alliance. We will each do our best to put an end to this betrothal before it is too late and then continue on with our lives. I may be a ‘bumbling barbarian who uses his sword more than his brain’ but I think this is a...partnership, that will get us both what we want._

_-Prince Keith._

His groan of embarrassment had been audible throughout the entire castle. And sure, maybe his letter hadn’t been the most politically correct but it wasn’t meant to be read by the guy, let alone _quoted_ . Yet...Keith’s idea was intriguing. A devious plot to break up their engagement really wasn’t a bad idea. It was obvious neither party was thrilled by the idea of marriage—though Lance was a total catch and would make a _wonderful_ husband one day—just to someone he chose.

Someone whose first choice was _him_.

It had taken a day of furious pacing, but he’d eventually penned his reply, tying the letter in blue ribbon and sending it via his personal messenger falcon, Azul. It had been simple, short and sweet.

- _Alright then. You have a deal, partner._

_And please, the name is Lance._

Their correspondence had started as a mistake, an unappreciated error and had ended with the not-so-startling realisation that an end to their engagement _wasn’t_ what Lance wanted.

After getting to _know_ Keith, even as just words on paper, Lance fell in love. Utter, spellbinding, _stupid_ love.

They had stopped coming up with plots to end their betrothal one year after exchanging that first set of letters, instead, filling up pages and pages with _everything_ but. Their hopes and dreams, doubts, petty grievances and stupid inside jokes. On occasion, Keith would send him drawings. Artfully rendered sketches of his mother or the Captain of the Guard, Shiro, or even the jagged mountains and eerie forests of Marmora. 

Anything and everything went into those letters, and slowly but surely little pieces of Lance’s heart snuck their way in too. Nestling comfortably in his loopy scrawl. He hoped Keith could tell how much he adored him. How even though their beginning had been...rocky, he’d choose Keith, now and always. He would pick Keith out of every romantic prospect in the universe. Maybe he wouldn’t have two years ago but now…

Well, things are just—different.

* * *

  
  


This is Lance’s eighth letter of the morning. 

The other seven are scattered haphazardly in crumpled balls around his suite. At least two are thrown near his four-poster bed. Three are littered beneath his desk, another under his chair and the last one...Lance furrows his brows, well, he’d thrown that one into his bathing chamber.

He’ll get them later.

But, back to the letter he’s writing now, this one might just be the winner. 

And it’s a love letter. 

To Keith.

All of Lance’s overwhelming feelings for the other prince neatly penned on cream paper. It isn’t the grand confession of love Lance imagined as a young boy, but it’s honest and utterly sincere, spreading over four pages. It—it’s his heart on paper, which is terrifying but Keith has always been brutally honest—would it really kill the guy to just mince his words just _once_ —but it's the least Lance can do, to write with that same unabashed sincerity. In a love letter of course, because Lance may be a prince but he is also a _hopeless_ romantic.

A knock startles him just as he signs his name at the bottom of the last page, his quill streaking the paper with black.

“ _Shit_ —”

A young servant boy pokes his head inside. _Klaizap_ , he thinks, but Lance has never been good with names. “I apologise for disturbing you, Your Highness, but the Queen requests your presence in the throne room.”

Lance sighs through his nose. “Right now?” His hands are already rolling up the pages of his letter, tying them with a sleek ribbon; they follow the motions easily, more than accustomed to the weight of paper in them. 

Klaizap bobs his head, dark skin flushing under Lance’s gaze. “Y—yes Your Highness, right away, if you please.”

With a very un-prince-like groan, Lance rises from his hunch-backed position at his desk, shoulders cracking as he stretches his arms, letter in hand. He’d really prefer _not_ to do this right now, but a _royal summons_ must be heeded.

Lance’s palms are —unfortunately—ink-stained, the cuffs of his white shirt are smudged with black. It’s not a novel occurrence, but not technically proper attire for a prince. He tugs them down before carefully tucking his letter into his doublet and crossing the room in a few easy strides. _I’m sure it’s no one important,_ he muses following the young boy out of his suite and into the marble corridors, he tugs his sleeves down again as they walk, just to give himself something to do, _at least I hope not._

* * *

  
  


The Pearl Palace is the Espinosa family’s summer residence, situated on the very coast of Arus, teetering on the edge of a small cliff, above the crystal blue swell of the ocean.

Summer, however, is drawing to a close, meaning that in another week or so Lance, his mother (and their retinue of guards) will head in-land to their main residence in the capital to convene with the rest of his family. Luis and Marco had spent the warmer months in the heart of Olkari, while Veronica took Acxa on a well-deserved vacation in Altea and Rachel… 

Well, Rachel was in _Marmora_.

She’d traveled there a week ago to ‘catch up’ with some of her friends among the ranks of marmoran nobles. Lance had been riding back from Balmera after spending a week relaxing with Hunk and his fiancée Shay, in the kingdom’s famous hot springs. It had been that week that had been the catalyst to Lance’s letter, a week of watching them be _together_ , so at ease together, and he just— _wanted_ that, to get married, to be with Keith, to see him… 

_All of it._

With _Keith_.

So he’d ridden back as fast as he could, mind already buried beneath images of ink and paper, but it had still taken him days to get to the palace and by the time he arrived, sweaty, tired, and eyes wild, Rachel had already left.

His mother didn’t even tell him and _that_ —that was what stung the most.

They had argued about it, Lance and his mama, their fight didn’t last long but Lance had felt the burning of his anger for days afterward.

_“Why didn’t you tell me?”_

_“It was spur of the moment—”_

_Lance gritted his teeth, mouth curling up into a snarl. “_ Bullshit _.” The word was bitter on his tongue, tone sharper than the sword sheathed at his side._

 _“Leandro!” His mother leant forward in her chair, frown pulling unkindly at her mouth. After hearing about exactly_ where _his sister had gone, he’d stormed into her office, mud still on his boots and lack of sleep burning in his eyes. She’d been peacefully curled up in her favourite armchair, book open in her lap and lit by the late afternoon sun streaming in from the large window behind her._

_“Remember Leandro, you are a prince,” she clicked her tongue against her teeth, “you are not to use such language and as for Rachel,” she looks away, face turning towards the window. “Rachel went to see her friends. That is all and'' his mother added “I saw no reason to stop her. And no reason to inform you. Especially not when you were content in the south.”_

_Something about her tone had seemed...out of place, odd, but Lance was too furious to care, to examine it any closer. He had just barrelled onward like a raging bull. “No reason to tell me, huh? Not like I’m_ engaged _to the future king of Marmora or anything,” his mother had opened her mouth to reply but Lance just raised his voice, drowning out anything she might have said. “It’s not like I actually deserve to meet the man I’m engaged to. No! Just send my_ sister _,” he threw his hands up, “because that makes_ perfect _sense.”_

 _She closed her book with a sharp_ thwack! _“Mijo, there is a limit to how far you can push,” her eyes, the same colour as his own, flashed, “do not cross that line, Leandro.”_

_Any further protests died on his tongue, the last embers of his temper cooling, if only slightly. Lance forgets sometimes that he’s a prince, that he was born into a rigid hierarchy that he has to follow, that despite the courtly extravagance that surrounds him, he can’t pick and choose which rules he has to follow._

_Obeying the queen is at the top of those rules._

_He ran an exasperated hand through his hair, “I just—” he groans. Words are usually easier to wield than this. “I just wanted to see him, Mami. More than anything.”_

_His mother placed her book on the arm of her chair, rising with a soft sigh at the stiffness in her joints. “You will, Mijo. I promise.” She walks over to him and lifts a weathered hand to rest against his cheeks. “These things must be done properly, as you well know.”_

_Lance’s scowl didn’t budge from his face. He wanted to yell and shout and scream at how unfair this was, how he hadn’t even been given the opportunity to choose someone for himself in the first place and now...now he couldn’t even go and see his fiance without some shitty formal event._

_His mother sighed softly as if she could hear Lance’s thoughts. “Don’t fret, Leandro,” she said, returning to her chair by the window, sinking into its velvety plushness and gazing out the window. “Your time will come.”_

It has been one week since then, one very long, torturous week, that had been spent mostly in his room. 

Not sulking of course.

Just...busy. Writing the perfect love letter takes time, energy, a significant amount of procrastination and pained groaning.

But now the fruit of his efforts is completed, safely tucked away in his doublet. It would be barely noticeable if Lance wasn’t hyper aware of the light press of paper against his chest, even through his shirt.

“So…” Lance begins, trailing after Klaizap, “my mother didn’t happen to tell you _why_ I was summoned?”

Klaizaps eyes flicker to him once before he shakes his head. “No, Your Highness.”

Lance huffs, picking at his sleeves. Normally he’d make an effort to converse with the kid, but he’s too wound up, cranky and impatient to get to the aviary and send his letter to Keith.

He’s still mentally shoving his annoyance down when they reach the doors to the throne room. Klaizap nods at the two guards, and they push open the heavy doors, the throne room painted golden by the mid-morning light. 

Lance reigns in his sigh and turns to Klaizap, mouth quirking in a small smile. “Thanks for the escort.”

The page blinks. Nods. Blinks again, dark skin flushing deeply before bowing low and scurrying away. Lance’s brow rises in bemusement. He can’t be much older than the boy but he still feels oddly oblivious, like he’s missing something.

Maybe he’s just getting old.

The doors to the throne room shut heavily behind him. The resounding thud straightening Lance’s spine and his hand lifts to his doublet unconsciously, curling over his letter protectively. Every Time he enters this room, it feels more _absurdly_ ostentatious than the last. The marble pillars and pearl in-laid floors glinting beautifully while still being pretentious.

He spies his mother across the large space, a group of people—nobles most likely—in front of her, clad in dark colours at odds with the summer heat.

An ear-splitting squeal erupts from the heart of the group. “ _Leandro!_ ”

“ _Rachel—”_

His sister barrels into him with the ferocity of a rampaging knight and Lance only _just_ manages to catch her in his arms without falling. “What are you—” he swallows, eyes comically wide. “Rachel _you’re back_?”

“Astute observation, Lance.” She squeezes him round the middle once more before stepping back. Her hair is loose and wild, boots and breeches flecked with dirt.

Lance raises his eyebrows, she’s filthy. “You don’t look very put together for a princess.”

She grins, tugging on his ink-stained sleeves. “I could say the same for you, little brother.”

“At least my pants are clean.”

The queen clears her throat pointedly and rises from her throne, voice ringing out across the space. An audible reminder that Lance is here for a reason, even if he’s not quite sure what that is yet. “Leandro, there is someone I would like you to meet,” she smiles gently, “the person Rachel was sent to escort.”

 _What?_

Lance takes a step closer. “You said Rachel went to Marmora to see her _friends_.” His voice is hard, a trickle of foreboding skittering down his spine.

“I may have bent the truth slightly.”

“ _Mami_ .” The whole secret-let’s surprise-Lance-thing is really freaking him out. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up not when the retinue in front of his mother bear the marmoran crest, not when he’s desperately wishing that maybe—maybe _Keith—_ That maybe somehow—

“Leandro,” his mama says, eyes twinkling, “I would like to formally introduce you to the Crown Prince of Marmora, Keith Kogane.”

It’s strange how despite the impossibility of it, time can appear to stand still. Can appear to halt and throw the world in startling clarity, so that every beam of light fractures through the air, so that Lance can feel every stuttering beat of his heart

Then there’s movement in the group. A head of dark hair and grey eyes, like a winter storm and just like that, time speeds up. It slams into Lance, hooking it’s claws into him like a rabid beast, and the marble walls and Rachel’s face blur and Lance—

Lance goes down.

* * *

His head is heavy, tongue thick and cottony in his mouth. The pillow beneath his head is soft, lessening the ache in his skull. 

Lance blinks slowly, eyes squinting at the light. He shakes his head, wincing at the sharp pain. _Better not do that again_ …

A low chuckle sounds next to him, a soft sound that Lance can almost feel in his own chest. “Your head will hurt for a day or so, I guess it’s a good reminder to not faint in rooms with marble floors."

Lance’s eyes finally focus and he turns his head to look at the figure by his bedside. His eyes widen at the wash of dark hair hanging around the strangers face. The slate gray eyes framed by thick lashes, the scar on his cheek that Lance’s fingers itch to touch. “ _Keith_?”

Another laugh escapes his mouth, the scar crinkling as he does so. _He has a nice smile_ , Lance muses, _good teeth too_. Keith tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “Ah yes, that would be…me,” he sticks out a hand, “nice to meet you?”

Lance props himself up on his elbows, wincing at another stab of pain in his head. He can’t believe it, he’s really here, really truly, unequivocally _here_ . The thought makes him giddy and stupid. “Sorry, but, two years of bi-weekly correspondence and all I get is a handshake?” Lance’s mouth quirks up, “I know you’re a little awkward but we are _engaged_.”

Keith stills and for a moment Lance wants to kick himself. Only, two minutes into their first face-to-face meeting and he’s already blurting out all sorts of dumb things. Though, it’s not like they don’t know each other, like Lance doesn’t know all sorts of mundane facts about the boy in front of him. Like how Keith wakes up before dawn every day without fail and how he spends more time with his hunting dog Kosmo, than the other nobles. Things like how Keith loves lemon cake but hates lemons or how, for Lance’s seventeenth birthday he sent him a crystal pendant in the shape of a moon, the rock mined from Marmora’s very own mountains. 

A pendant he’s worn every day since.

Keith smiles a little helplessly, a feeling mirrored in Lance’s own chest and hesitantly moves to perch on the bed next to Lance. “Could I—” he clears his throat. “Could I hug you, then?”

Lance snorts. “Oh wow,” he lifts his eyebrows teasingly, “anyone ever tell you that you’re kinda cute?”

“ _Lance_ —”

He laughs and winds his arms around Keith’s shoulders, pulling the other boy flush against him. Lance loves teasing him but he won’t deny himself the feeling of Keith’s body against his own. 

He’s not a masochist.

Keith lets out a small noise before wrapping his own arms around Lance’s waist, his fingertips resting against Lance’s shoulder blades, before tucking his head in the crook of his neck, breaths hot and heavy against Lance’s skin. They’re both quiet for a moment, reveling in the physical weight and presence of each other, the novelty of actually being _close_ to one another. 

Lance threads his fingers through Keith’s hair, marveling at the silken texture of it. “You didn’t tell me you were coming,” he murmurs. He will _definitely_ be having a word with his sister and mother about boundaries later. But in the meantime...

Keith hums, lips dragging against the sensitive skin at his throat. Lance’s cheeks flush hotly. He’s wanted this—to be close to Keith like this—for so _long._ Long enough that it’s become like a permanent ache. Even now, with Keith wound around him tightly, that _want_ hasn’t quite abated. The sudden drag of Keith’s voice makes him jolt.

“I did send you a message actually but,” a pause, “you, uh, obviously didn’t get that.”

Lance’s arms tighten around Keith’s shoulders. “Tone down the sass young man, this has been a very trying week.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Lance shakes his head and buries his nose in Keith’s hair. The offer makes his heart warm but, it doesn’t feel as important now, wrapped up in the arms of his fiance. “I’m just glad you’re here,” he mumbles.

Keith is quiet for a beat before—“I can’t believe you fainted.” 

Lance pouts at the dry humour in his tone. “Sorry,” he drawls, “it’s not every day my fiance randomly appears in my home.”

Keith's body shakes with laughter. Lance squeezes him, tightly. _Asshole._ “If it makes you feel any better,” he murmurs, tilting his jaw so that his next words are said directly into Lance’s ear, “I felt the same way.”

Lance pulls back, heat on his freckled cheeks. “Oh, _really_ ,” he replies, raising his eyebrows, mouth quirking up at the dusting of pink on his fiance’s face. _Oohh._

Keith opens his mouth. Shuts it. Huffs, before looking heavenward, as if beseeching the divine. “ _Yes_.”

Lance’s smile widens. Toothy and bright. Lance taps his cheek, right above the scar, silently urging Keith to look at him. “I want to give you something.”

His heart stutters unevenly in his chest, hammering beneath his shirt and the weight of the letter, still thankfully tucked into his doublet. All the words he wants to say bubble in his mouth, pressing against the closed gates of his teeth forcefully. Lance swallows them, drawing out his letter and holding it out to Keith. He ignores the way his hand trembles in the space between them. Lance is basically handing over his heart on a silver platter, okay? It’s kind of intense.

But...he trusts Keith. With himself, his heart, with the most private and intimate parts of himself, and it’s that thought that evens out the unsteady beating of his heart. Keith is _here_ , he’s not going to waste this chance. “I meant to send you this today,” Lance says, “but that, _evidently_ , didn’t happen, so,” he waves the letter, “here you go.”

Keith takes it from his hand gently, cradling it delicately between his fingers. “Do you want me to read it now?” His eyes are... _soft_. That’s really the only word for it. Soft and understanding and it’s strange, how _seen_ Lance feels. 

He bites his lip. Quiet for only a second before he nods. “Go ahead, Keefers.” The old nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, despite never using it aloud, but only in his correspondence with Keith, when he really wanted to rile him up. Keith’s deadpan expression makes Lance grin and he swallows his laughter, nudging their knees together. “Just—read it.”

Keith doesn't say anything else as he pulls the ribbon off, unfurls the paper and begins to read. His grey eyes flick across the first page, devouring each of Lance’s messily scrawled words. He rubs his palms together in his lap, if only to give him something to do, he trusts Keith but, _boy,_ is this nerve-wracking. And yet...the fact that Keith is here, right in front of him at all, feels like a miracle. 

For the first time in two years Lance can put a face to the name and, _stars_ is it a beautiful face.

Keith makes a strangled noise and Lance jolts, tearing his eyes away from the cut of his jaw. “ _When_ ,” he says slowly, “did you write this?”

Lance rubs the back of his neck. “I finished it this morning,” he eyes the crumpled papers still lettered around his desk. “Took me a few tries to get it right, y’know?”

Keith stares at him. Face slack and mouth hanging open dumbly. “Oh my god—you are—I can’t believe _you ,_ ” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair.

Embarrassment itches in Lance’s chest. This was, _uh_ , not quite the reaction he’d been hoping for, had dreaded actually. He should have waited at least a day, _of course_ he should have waited. His mother is right about some things, about etiquette and decorum and— _stars_ , he does this all the time, runs headfirst and blind into situations without thinking about the consequences. _Goddamnit_. “Look,” he starts, fingers itching to take the letter out of Keith’s hands and throw it into a fire, “if it’s that... _bad_ , we can—can we just forget about,” Lance waves a hand, “ t _his_.”

“Wait, Lance—”

“No, I—it was too much and, man, that’s,” Lance musters a shaky smile, “that’s _fine_ , we can just—”

Keith grabs one of his hands and places it on his chest. Lance’s hand buzzes with the heavy thumping of his heart. A flesh and blood mirror to his own. “You have to let me finish okay?” Keith's thumb strokes his knuckles. “Please?”

Lance eyes him shrewdly. He hasn’t been face to face with Keith long enough to learn how to discern how sincere he is being, but his _voice_ … 

He sighs but nods. _Do your worst, Keefers_.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Can you stop looking at me like this is an execution.” the corner of Lance’s mouth lifts, seems like Keith’s humour is still as dry and sand. “Okay, now, it’s going to take me a second to remember everything, so just,” Keith looks up at him through his lashes, “don’t laugh.” He licks his lips and Lance’s eyes drop to his mouth, unbidden but wanting all the same. “ _First I loved your words and then your thoughts,_ ” the words are whisper quiet, barely audible as if Keith is afraid that saying them any louder will break the tension between them. “ _But it has gotten to the point—or maybe it always was so—that I cannot separate the princely image of you from ink on paper._ ”

His breath watches in his throat. That—the words...they’re from _his letter_! He couldn’t have memorised them that quickly. “Keith—”

He squeezes Lance’s hand and continues, voice growing more confident. “ _And maybe it’s silly but every written word reminds me of you. Of us,_ ” Keith swallows, eyes steady, cheeks flushed. Lance is combusting. Wrecked. He’s had too much shock for one day, this is it, where he’s going to _die_ because his fiance started sweetly reciting his own confession to him. Keith’s fingers come to rest against his jaw, warm and _real._ “ _You are—_ ” his mouth quirks, cheeky and fond _“—every boring history book, every poem, lyric to a love song. You are every utterance of the word daring, stubborn or bold_ .” Keith’s voice shakes, the fingers against Lance’s jaw tremble, _Lance_ is trembling—mostly with restraint—because Keith is right there and he’s beautiful and Lance is going to do it. 

He’s going to kiss him.

“Keith—”

“I’m not done yet,” his brows furrow, “just give me a second to remember the rest.”

“I don’t know how romantic it is to be quoted my own love letter, especially not when I could kiss—”

Keith’s hands grip the collar of Lance’s doublet, frown on his mouth. “Stop interrupting me!”

Lance bites his lip to stop smiling. _Don’t kiss him_ , he thinks _, don’t do it, don’t do it—_

Keith groans, shaking Lance by his collar. “ _Shit._ I forgot where I was…” 

“I think,” Lance murmurs because he can because Keith is _here,_ “it ended with something like this.”

And then he kisses him. Tipping forward and rocking their mouths together, swallowing the small sound of surprise Keith makes. It’s a little messy and their teeth _clack_ together but Lance is _kissing_ him and that’s the only thing that matters, that and the warmth of Keith’s mouth, the smell of pine and earth in his hair, the softness of his skin. Lance has just risen onto his knees angling Keith’s jaw just so when he hears the rustle of paper. 

He pulls back wincing at the crumpled parchment beneath them. “Dammit, lemme move these—”

“No offense, but I love you more than a few pieces of parchment so please—” Keith tugs Lance back towards him “—please do not stop kissing me.”

Lance smirks, leaning in so that he and Keith are barely centimeters apart. “ _Oh_ , sweet devotion,” he recites dramatically, “might you not temper the bleeding heart of my love’s impatience.”

Keith’s eyes flash, desire, exasperation and amusement warring within them. “As pleasing as it is to be called your love,” he replies flatly, “might you temper my unyielding impatience yourself?”

When Lance speaks their lips brush. “You’re pretty sexy when you quote poetry, huh.”

Keith’s answer is dry as sawdust. “You’re still not kissing me.”

Lance rolls his eyes and pecks his lips once. Twice. Three times, until he can’t bring himself to stop and he’s wrapped up in exploring Keith’s mouth all over again. Keith drags him down, till he’s lying flat, Lance poised above him and haloed by the golden light filtering into his room. 

Thank the stars, no one has come to check on them yet.

“Keith,” Lance says against his lips, “ _Keith, Keith, Keith_ —”

He pulls away, mouth flushed and curved with a shy smile. “Lance.”

All the words Lance wants to say bubble up in his throat pressing against the cage of his teeth until—

“Marry me?”

Lance blinks down at Keith’s flushed face, talk about taking the words right out of his mouth. “ _What_?”

Keith stares up at him squarely. _Oh,_ Lance thinks, _this is his determined face._ “Marry me.”

“You, uh,” Lance bites his cheek, “you know we’re already _engaged_ , right?”

Keith huffs. “Yes. But, well,” he frowns, looking uncharacteristically nervous, and Lance can feel affection wind its way through his ribs until he’s warm with it. Keith pushes a stray curl from Lance’s forehead. “I just wanted to ask you... _properly._ Face to face, which is unnecessary I know but—”

“ _Yes._ ”

“Yes?”

“Oh my _stars_ ,” an unyielding, wild grin pulls at Lance’s mouth, “Of course, you dolt. I wanna marry you so _bad_.”

Keith blinks at him as if _surprised_ but then he smiles, slow and wide and bright as the first star of evening. “Okay,” he breathes, “good to know.”

Lance bites his lip to keep from kissing Keith senseless and rolls onto his side, propping his head up with a fist. “I do have conditions though.”

Keith tilts his head, grey eyes warm and indulgent. “And they are?”

“One, we split the year between Arus and Marmora, I don’t think I could handle the cold all year round.”

Keith raises his eyebrows. “As if we’d do it any other way.”

The corner of Lance’s mouth lifts. This _boy—_ “Two, we get married in…” he hesitates, searching for the right word. “Neutral territory. I’d rather not choose between—”

“What about Altea?”

Lance hums, suddenly distracted by the cut of Keith’s brow, the way the light and shadows play off the planes of his face. How can one person be _this_ attractive, it’s honestly unfair. “For what?

Keith moves onto his side, mirroring Lance’s position. His eyes shine with mirth as if he knows _exactly_ what Lance is thinking. He pokes his cheek. “For the wedding, Lance.” His voice turns wistful, expression clouded with some distant memory, “there is this tiny village on the coast. It’s perched on these giant white cliffs, right over the ocean it’s—” he sighs. “It’s really beautiful.”

Lance lifts his free hand to brush away a chunk of Keith’s dark hair, tucking it behind his ear gently. His heart cracks a little when Keith turns his cheek into his palm, skin smooth and warm. The idea that he’s already thought about it—their _wedding_ —makes him weak with love. “That,” he tells Keith, “sounds perfect.”

Keith’s grey eyes are lit with golden sunlight. A thousand stars shining in them. “Yeah?”

Lance presses his lips to his, mouth tingling with the audible sigh Keith makes. He tastes like the sweet promise of summer nights and winter storms by the fire. Of rain showers, and cosy evenings spent looking at the stars.

“Yeah.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Ok, if you read that fluffy behemoth, congrats! This isn't my favourite fic ever, but I really enjoyed writing some fluff and sweet smooches!
> 
> Again huge thank you to Yashu, you are a gem!
> 
> Come find me on twitter @FonDaBohh


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